Catalyst
by HolidayArmadillo
Summary: She turns up on your doorstep one night with a soft knock and a bottle of wine, held out in front of you like a placating green glass excuse for the reason she's really there. HouseCuddy


**Title** – Catalyst

**Rating** – Softish R

**Word Count** – 596

**Genre** – Sorta an angst-romance thing, I guess. It's pretty indecisive.

**Pairing** – HouseCuddy

**Warning** – This kinda randomly came to me last night, and I'm not absolutely positive it's any good. So, my apologies in advance if it's crappy. Oh, and it's written in 2nd person, so you should probably stay away if you don't like that.

**Inspired By** – gidget89's most excellent oneshot, Cure, and also the song 'Catalyst' by Anna Nalick. (That's where the lyrics at the beginning come from, BTW.)

**Summary** – She turns up on your doorstep one night with a soft knock and a bottle of wine, held out in front of you like a placating green-glass excuse for the reason she's really there.

----------X----------

_So you're taking these pills for to fill up your soul_

_And you're drinking them down with cheap alcohol_

_And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking_

_Be a part of this terrible mess that you're making but me_

_I'm the catalyst_

She turns up on your doorstep one night with a soft knock and a bottle of wine. She doesn't speak, won't even look you in the eyes until the door clicks shut and you're safely ensconced in the thick half-darkness of your bedroom. You don't speak, expecting her to start talking, but she stays quiet, and silence wraps itself around you like a too-hot blanket, heavy and uncomfortable. You clear your throat awkwardly, readying a sarcastic remark on your tongue, but she steps forward, leaving scarcely an inch between you, and the words freeze uselessly halfway to your mouth. Within seconds you're pressed up against the wall, and she's shaking as she kisses you with salt-stained lips, her cheeks wet against your own. She tastes of melancholy and alcohol, and when she steps back for a second you realize she's still crying. She looks at you pleadingly, her eyes a flat dark grey in the dim moonlight illuminating the room, and your decision is almost instantaneous. You close the gap between you and tangle your hands in her hair and the night dissolves into a black and grey blur of shapes and shadows and silence. Your senses intermingle, wavering at the edges, until her skin sparkles like cut glass and the moonlight is salty with tears and sweat. She falls asleep with her arms draped across your chest and you stroke her hair absently as you wait for tiredness to overcome you. She's gone when you wake up in the morning, as you knew she would be. The bottle of wine still sits in the exact same place you left it last night, glinting as the early morning sunlight throws it's reflections off the glossy wood table it stands on. It's only then that you realize that it was an alibi, a placating green-glass excuse for the real reason she came, and she'd never planned to open it in the first place.

You take pains to avoid each other at work for the next few days. When Wilson asks you concernedly if anything is wrong, you snort derisively and answer with what is supposed to be a casual brush-off but comes out with more force than you intend. You wait for life to carry on as normal again, to settle back into it's time-worn routine of bantering and arguments, but it never really does. Conversation is stilted and awkward, and her attempts to counter your flippant remarks are half-hearted. The world is off-key and, for once in your life, you can't think of a solution to make it in tune again.

----------X----------

_So I'm taking these pills for to fill up my soul_

_And I'm drinking them down with cheap alcohol_

_And you'd be inclined to be mine for the taking_

_Be a part of this terrible mess that I'm making but you…_

She turns up on your doorstep one night with a soft knock and a bottle of wine. You're no stranger to the routine now, but this time when the bedroom door swings shut she smiles at you, and her lips taste not of salt but of raspberries. "Lipgloss?" you murmur, and she laughs softly into your mouth as you wrap your hands around her hips and pull her down to the bed once more.

_You're the catalyst._

End


End file.
